Lost Boy
by bleak reality
Summary: A young Harry has a visitor. "Silly of you to get locked in the cupboard. Tink can get out of cupboards on her own." (Peter Pan crossover)
1. Lost Boy

Harry was young, and small. As such, he could still stretch full length in his cupboard - palms flat against the wall behind his head and toes touching the far end - without any discomfort. However, it worried him occasionally, when he sat up too quickly or knocked something off the shelf with an elbow, that he obviously wouldn't fit his cupboard for ever.

He was awake one night, pondering this fact, when a light flickered through the vent.

Harry turned his head, cheek against his arm, and his glasses slid at an odd angle so that his eyelashes brushed one lens. The light was uneven, and the shadows of the vent jerked on the cupboard wall. Maybe Uncle Vernon was checking on him with a torch? But he couldn't hear footsteps. Aunt Petunia walked more quietly. But no, he'd been awake, and he'd have heard her on the stairs.

Carefully, he eased himself up on his elbows and listened. Small sounds were coming from the lounge room, like fingers tapping on the wall, one at a time. The light came closer again, brighter, and a tingling came with it.

Harry blinked, and adjusted his glasses again. A face was peering through the vent, wide blue eyes and gold skin - another boy. Harry didn't yelp, but flinched.

"Did you get stuck in there?" the stranger's voice was mildly confused.

"Um. No."

The door handle rattled briefly.

"But it's locked."

Harry made a faint affirmative. The boy outside his door paused, and then laughed.

"That's silly."

The air tingled again. Harry shivered, and heard the boy say to somebody else,

"Of course you should open it, Tink. He's no fun in there."

The handle rattled again.

"There you are!" the boy's face vanished from the vent. Harry got up on his knees and tried the door. It was open, but Uncle Vernon had the only key...

He stepped into the open, his tshirt hem dropping to midthigh. The other boy stood with his hands on hips, grinning expectantly. He wasn't wearing anything but leaves, with a knife and a set of pipes slung at his side.

"Well?"

"Thankyou," seemed like the right thing to say.

"Silly of you to get locked in the cupboard. Tink can get out of cupboards on her own."

Harry folded his arms. The other boy was a few years older than him, and taller. Harry was sure who he was - he'd heard Piers telling the story to Dudley once, when they'd been much smaller. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had managed to blame Harry for Dudley's insistence on leaving his bedroom window open at night, in case Peter Pan wanted to visit.

"What's your name?" Harry double checked.

"What's yours?"

"Harry Potter."

Peter affirmed Harry's theory, and seemed that much more comfortable that Harry's name was short too. He bounced off the floor and lazily drifted to perch on the stair rail.

"Why have you come?" Harry asked. His bare toes curled in the carpet pile.

"Babies don't fall out of their prams so often, now. Prams have buckles." At this, he wrinkled his nose. Harry laughed, very softly. "The only ones who get away are _girls_, who _wriggle_ out." Peter pulled out his knife and dropped off the rail, slipping quickly inside Harry's cupboard. His next words were muffled. "You ever tried attacking pirates with only a bunch of girls?"

Harry put his head back inside, watching Peter flip through a few junk-mail catalogues, examine a bent plastic soldier, and pause one hand over an acorn.

"I've never seen pirates," he confessed, as Peter took up the acorn by the stem. "I don't imagine Uncle Vernon would live in an area infested with pirates."

"Girls yell rather shrill," Peter observed distantly.

Harry frowned at the acorn. He wasn't sure why it was so fascinating.

"You can have that, if you like."

Peter turned, sharp, his eyes wide in the dark. "Why?"

"You let me out of my cupboard."

There was a tingle loud in his ear, and Harry jerked as the gold light came back. What had Piers called the fairy?

"Tinkerbelle?"

"She's my fairy." Peter stood, smiling again. "And she says she misses the Lost Boys too. Lucky for her I decided to recruit myself some more."

The fairy jingled, exasperated, and darted to tug at Peter's hair. Without explanation, the boy nodded and ducked out of the cupboard, barely skimming the floor as he flew back for the lounge room window.

"Where are you going?" Harry whispered, padding after him.

"It's getting close to light."

"You're leaving?"

One foot on the sill, Peter looked back, seeming lost. Harry had once seen the same expression on a man in the street, watching a woman walk away from him while another stood impatiently waiting at his side. Peter suddenly held out Harry's acorn in an open palm, the other hand rested on the hilt of his knife.

"Don't you want this back?"

"You have it," Harry insisted. He'd never had anything to give, before. Or anyone to accept a gift.

Peter nodded, and quickly drew his knife. With a _snick_, he cut a wide green leaf from the others, and laid it in Harry's keeping.

"Girls are horrible to fight with," he grinned. "They sound like fairies yelling battlecries."

Tinkerbelle promptly threw dust in Peter's face, and he sneezed.

"So you'll come back?"

"Of course."

"This," Harry floundered, suddenly hopelessly shy and feeling far too young. "This isn't a good house for stories."

Tinkerbelle was in the front garden, whizzing furious figure eights between the white pickets of the fence. Peter stepped out of the window and up, sheathing his knife.

"That isn't why I came."

Harry ran to the sill and stuck his head between the curtains.

"I need someone to plan the battles," Peter laughed, and did a quick cartwheel before zooming off. The little gold light of Tinkerbelle zigzagged along with him, and Harry followed the sparkle until it was gone.

Slowly he pulled his head back inside, and shut the window. As he walked back to his cupboard, he twirled the stem of the skeleton leaf between his fingers, gently.


	2. Lost Boy Grown

The bed in Dudley's second bedroom was small, and the mattress creaked when Harry moved too quickly. Rolling over quietly required concentration, and avoiding Dudley's attention was so second nature that Harry frequently woke himself up when moving. After restless nights when nightmares shook him (like Ripper with torn cloth) and Harry found himself across the bed or on the floor by dawn, Dudley would snigger and smirk all the way through breakfast. A whispered question of, "How's that boyfriend of yours?" left scorch marks on the tablecloth under Harry's fingers, and Aunt Petunia docked three meals to cover the cost of a new one.

* * *

Hedwig was out most nights, hunting or delivering, as Harry kept in more or less regular contact with the Order. So when he heard, shortly after dark, a tapping on the window, Harry automatically slid out of bed to answer it.

The boy hovering outside, lit uneven gold by the cluster of sparks darting about him, was so far from being Hedwig with a mouse that Harry quite forgot to open the window and simply stared.

The boy rapped his knuckles on the window again, looking worried. Harry swallowed and let him in.

Bare feet scuffed on the bare timber floor, and fingertips trailed over the edge of his desk. The boy lifted a quill, frowned at it, then dropped it again. The ball of light flitted about the sketch of an owl that Dean had given Harry in first year, then whizzed away – disinterested.

Harry leant against the windowsill, trying to remember to breathe.

"You grew." The words, and the tilt of the boy's neck, were accusing.

"You never came back."

"I'm back now, aren't I?"

"I'd almost convinced myself I dreamed you."

The boy laughed. "Why would you do that?"

Harry shrugged, out of words.

"You remember me though, don't you?"

He smiled, weakly. "Of course, Peter."

The skeleton leaf was safe under a preservation charm, hidden between the pages of Harry's photo album.

Peter grinned and threw back his head, but Harry moved (Seeker quick) and slapped a palm over an open mouth.

"Don't crow. You'll wake up my cousin and he's insufferable as it is."

Peter's eyes sparkled as the light – Tinkerbelle – scattered dust between them. Harry felt something wet on his hand, and flinched back as he realised Peter had licked him.

"What - ?"

A laugh, quiet for once, and Peter skipped. "Your hands are clean. The Lost Girls are cleaner than the boys were but their hands still get dirt on them. How come yours don't?"

Harry wiped skin against his pyjama bottoms, and sat down carefully on the bed. "I assume it's because I stay inside a lot. But after working outside in the garden I wash my hands."

"_Wash_ them?"

"Yes, Peter. Washing things tends to keep them clean."

"Oh." He stood with his feet apart and his hands on his hips, studying the floor. Tinkerbelle had grown bored with them, and was preening at her reflection in Harry's inkwell.

Searching for anything to fill the quiet, Harry patted the bed beside him. "Sit down?"

Peter was light, floating rather than walking, and settling on the creaky mattress so gently that it barely noticed him. Harry pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

"Are there still only girls in Neverland?"

"Mhm. They're not all bad. Some of the new ones are almost like the boys were, but they'd still rather play with the fairies than fight pirates."

"Is Hook still captain?"

"Oh no, he's gone. There's been two new ships since his, the new pirate's a man called the Blizzard. He's just as bad as Hook though, so he's just as fun."

Harry smiled. Peter didn't notice.

"Diver, she's the one I put in charge when I'm not there, she wants to be one of the mermaids. Course, that's silly because she doesn't have a tail, but she's sure she can do it. When I tell her she can't she sulks and says I'm being mean. But that's girls for you." He turned his head then, looking sharply at Harry. "You should have come."

"Where?"

"To the Neverland. Being the only boy there is frightfully boring. And how am I to have fun if I'm bored and surrounded by girls?"

Harry snickered, which was a mistake. Peter didn't take kindly to being laughed at, and immediately sprang at Harry who lost his balance, rolled off the bed, and landed on the floorboards with a thud.

Peter crouched over him, knife at Harry's throat.

"What's so funny?"

Harry closed his eyes, wondering briefly what the Prophet headlines would read. Would they think the muggles had killed him, or would they call it suicide?

"Tell me!"

"If you were a little older, you'd love to be surrounded by girls."

"Why? What good are they?"

Harry opened his eyes. Peter had put his knife away, and was now sitting companionably on his stomach.

"Um." Well. Hermione was brilliant at research, and just as good at practical hexing. Ginny was killer at Bat Bogeys, and every bit as brave as anyone else who'd fought at the department of mysteries. Luna .. was odd. "Some of them are really good fighters."

"But what about when they don't feel like fighting?"

Harry knew very well that there were a number of fun things to do with girls, but they all made him think of Cho crying and for Merlin's sake he wasn't about to explain the facts of life to a perpetual child who was currently restricting his available oxygen.

"I'm not sure, to tell the truth."

"Hmph." Peter didn't move. "I thought you would have known."

"Why?"

A pause. "_Feelings_ .. are supposed to be clearer when you grow up."

Harry laughed shortly, diaphragm jerking. "If anything they only get worse."

"Then what are _they_ good for then?" Peter leant forward, jabbing Harry in the chest. "What's the point of having all these stupid feelings about things if they never make any sense to anyone?"

Struggling to prop himself up on his elbows, Harry shook his head. "It's just being human, Peter. Sometimes everything makes sense and other times nothing does. The point, I think, is judging what seems like the best thing to do based on whatever happens to you."

Two brown hands caught his shoulders and the room flooded with stunned silence as Peter kissed him swiftly on the mouth.

Harry froze, eyes wide open.

"Like that?" Peter asked, horrifyingly innocent.

"Something like that, I suppose, yes."

Peter leant down again but Harry interrupted him.

"Why are you doing this Peter?"

"Because it's the best thing."

"Why is it the best thing?"

The boy scowled. "Because you remembered me, and because I still need someone to plan the battles at home, and because I wanted to thimble you anyway. Plus, you gave me a kiss before."

"I what?"

Peter sat back and pulled a cord (woven from mermaid's hair) off over his head. Strung carefully on it, and preserved by Neverland's unique lack of time, was the acorn Peter had found in Harry's cupboard.

"You kept that?"

Peter shrugged, colouring under his tan.

Harry sighed, and wriggled. Peter took the hint and stood, offering a hand to pick Harry off the floor.

Tinkerbelle cautiously approached, alighting on Peter's shoulder and keeping her eyes on Harry. Harry supposed that, as a sixteen year old boy, he was more intimidating than .. what was her name? Wendy.

Peter shifted from one foot to another, uncharacteristically nervous. Harry ran a hand through his own hair, getting fingers caught in knots. How could he deal with this?

"Peter, I'd love to go with you. If you'd asked me when I was younger I would have said yes."

"Why won't you come now? You're not grown up yet!"

"It's not that. I have responsibilities here."

The boy folded his arms, unimpressed.

"There's a man here, Peter, that wants to kill me and a lot of other people. He's like Hook or the Blizzard, only worse, and with more followers. If I can't beat him, no one can."

"Oh." Peter took out his knife and began turning it over and over, thinking. "Can I help you?"

"No."

"Well anyway," blithe, Peter turned in a quick circle and tossed his knife up in the air before sheathing it. "Once you've beat this pirate, you can come to the Neverland. Right?" he grinned.

Harry's breath caught. That skeleton leaf had guarded his cupboard until he'd be moved out, and until leaving for Hogwarts he'd kept it safe between the pages of a maths textbook Dudley had thrown away. Now it was still green, still cool, and was secreted away with Harry's most precious things.

He'd seen Peter before any strange heavy letter had come. He'd dreamt of flying through trees after a boy made of sunlight – without any thought of brooms or motorbikes. Peter Pan's magic was the first Harry had ever known.

The boy's grin faltered, and Harry cringed at being the cause of that. He reached out a hand to take Peter's, and stepped closer.

"I don't know how long it will take me to get him. I might be grown up by the time I'm finished."

Peter laughed faintly. "You'll never grow up, Harry."

Harry's heart faltered, he caught quickly at the acorn around Peter's neck. Touch wood.

Tinkerbelle dashed for the open window and back again, nervous of Harry and wanting to go home. Peter glanced at her, then back up at Harry.

"I'll come for you. If you can come, promise you will."

"I promise."

"Thimble on it."

Harry shut his eyes this time, remembering the promises of freedom Peter had brought with him, and would bring again. Peter was warm and bright, and he laughed again when Harry stepped back, which was so different from Cho's crying that Harry had to laugh too.

* * *

Dudley was smirking at breakfast the next morning. Harry briefly considered dropping omelette into his lap, but changed his mind and turned to leave the room.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" Uncle Vernon yelled.

Harry paused in the doorway, and smiled serenely over his shoulder.

"I haven't written any letters in a while Uncle. I thought I should catch up before someone comes to check on me."

Dudley flinched visibly and went as pale as the Fat Friar. Uncle Vernon twitched.

"Go along then."

Harry inclined his head. "Thankyou, Uncle Vernon."


End file.
